


I Need You to Hate Me

by Habren



Series: Say Something [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Costume Party, F/F, Not Epilogue Compliant, a tad of angst, literally contemplative smut, one shot that went too long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29614470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Habren/pseuds/Habren
Summary: The ministry is trying to reconnect the community and hosting events that the Golden Trio has agreed to attend, much to Hermione's misery. Some guests in particular raise her ire with surprising consequences. Set one year after the war.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Series: Say Something [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2177850
Comments: 28
Kudos: 185





	I Need You to Hate Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bet_on_black](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bet_on_black/gifts).



> This was supposed to be a one shot, but it got a bit out of hand. I hope it still works. 
> 
> The story was inspired by Bet_on_black's wonderful story Worth Saving. I'm trying something new here, and we shall see if you guys like it. 
> 
> EM: Thank you, as always.  
> TT: No words. You are amazing.  
> BG: You'd be surprised by this one.

“Earth to Hermione,” Harry said with a chuckle.

Hermione’s head snapped in his direction. “Did you say something?”

Ron’s eyes widened. “He called your name _five_ times. These events are mind-numbingly boring. Sometimes I wonder if stabbing my hand with a fork will keep me awake, but the pain and all. You were gone completely, though. I thought you’d gone mental.”

Heat rushed into Hermione’s cheeks and she ducked her head. “Sorry. I was... contemplating something.” She pushed the fork further up on the table, avoiding eye-contact.

“I’ll say,” Harry said. “Oh look, Narcissa and ferret-boy are here again.”

Ron heaved a sigh. “Those were the days,” he lamented. “If I had a pensive, I’d re-watch Moody turning that git into a ferret and bouncing him up and down, oh, at least three times a day.”

“He’s bearable these days,” Harry said.

Ron scoffed.

Hermione’s eyebrows raised. “You do realize that wasn’t really Moody but Barty Crouch Jr. The _extremely_ insane Death Eater?”

“Well, yeah, but that one thing he did there, that was fine, right?”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Either way, I’m glad the wizarding world is embracing them. Even Draco deserves a second chance, and without Narcissa...”

Hermione tuned him out. She’d only heard this speech a million times. How close he’d become with that woman, calling her Narcissa and all. Unbelievable. But then again, Harry, Mr. I-don’t-hold-grudges Potter. Hermione suppressed a sigh.

She wished they hadn’t agreed to be part of this ministry reconciliation program with its nonsense of outreach and trying to mend bridges. Some bridges were meant to be burned.

So many dinners and balls, mingling with people who’d rather be anywhere else. Just because one hosted events and clumped people together who had nothing but disdain for each other, didn’t mean bridges would be mended. All these witches and wizards showed up to either stay out of trouble or mosey their way back into respectable society. Some also hoped to score points with the ministry.

The Malfoys, or Black, if the rumors were true and Narcissa indeed had divorced her husband, were everywhere. Always smiling, always on their best behavior. They didn’t even stay together, and instead, they’d circle the room, mingle with everyone, even people they considered beneath them.

Narcissa Black was charming, or at least she seemed that way from afar. Always impeccably dressed in stylish long-flowing dresses and robes. Picture perfect high-society pureblood. Oh, how Hermione hated her. Sometimes, when that thought crossed her mind, Narcissa flinched, and Hermione imagined saying it to the blonde witch’s face.

The war had been over for a year, and there had been no consequences for so many of them. Or at least, not the right consequences. Most of them belonged in Azkaban, not at balls and dinner parties. How was that fair? After everything they’d gone through and all their sacrifices. Hermione had to stew in this anger, in these memories, because if she didn’t, her thoughts would trail along paths she didn’t dare to venture, not even in the privacy of her own mind.

She despised Narcissa Black, and she had every reason to loathe the woman. So what if she was beautiful? There were plenty of pretty witches out there. So what if her hair reminded her of happier summer days, the sun high in the sky and a fresh breeze... Hermione closed her eyes. No. She wouldn’t go there. Damn that witch. She hated her. Merlin, she hoped she wouldn’t wear those emerald glossy dress robes again. During the last dinner, Hermione could hardly take her eyes off her. Could she have placed a glamor on herself to make her seem more attractive to others?

Across the room, the subject of Hermione’s rumination had a coughing fit.

***

“You shouldn’t drink so much. Not on an empty stomach. Remember Harry’s birthday last year?” Ron said, and his ears flamed at the glare Hermione threw his way.

“Mind your own business, Ronald,” Hermione snapped. She hated it when he was right. She’d had a hectic day at work, no breaks to eat or rest, and then once Hermione got home, she had to get ready for another one of these dreadful dinners. So what if she felt like they were more bearable with a certain amount of alcohol in her system? She was old enough.

“Harry, Ginny, Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger,” a melodic voice rang out, startling Hermione out of her thoughts. She hadn’t noticed her approach. She clenched her jaw and raised her gaze to meet Narcissa Black’s steely blue eyes. They seemed wearier than she’d expected.

“Narcissa, hello. How are you?” Harry rose from his seat and hugged the woman.

Hermione closed her eyes, refusing to analyze the surge of emotions rushing through her.

“I am well, thank you. How about you?”

“I’m all right. These events get a bit... tedious after a while,” he said with a sheepish grin.

Narcissa laughed.

Why did she sound genuine? Hermione refused to believe anything that woman had to say.

“Yes, that is true, however, the ministry is determined to continue this program, and we best play along,” Narcissa said and patted Harry’s arm. 

“You know all about _that_ , don’t you?” Hermione said.

Narcissa froze, her gaze drifting to Hermione. “We all do what we must, Ms. Granger. Enjoy your evening.” She nodded at the group and left.

“Why must you always be so rude to her?” Harry hissed.

“Rude? This is the first time I’ve said _anything_ to her!”

“Exactly. You usually ignore her, which is rude in of itself, but that comment just now?”

“Excuse me for not being able to let go of everything that happened like some other people,” Hermione said, picking up her glass and swallowing a big gulp.

Ron opened his mouth only to close it again, shaking his head.

“Have you thought about seeing a healer?” Ginny said after a moment of silence had fallen over the table.

“I don’t need one. I’ll get through this on my own,” Hermione said, placing her glass down with a clang.

After a few more awkward attempts to restart a normal conversation, the friends settled down again, though Hermione mostly kept to herself, nursing her wine and attempting to stop her gaze from seeking the blonde witch. She was convinced she had to be cursed, one way or another.

Close to the end of the evening, Hermione excused herself and headed toward the restrooms. She shouldn’t have had that much wine. Her legs wobbled and her vision swam when she first rose.

She turned a corner and entered the adjacent hallway when she collided with a solid, but warm form.

“Excuse me,” she muttered, blinking rapidly before drawing back and steadying herself. “What are _you_ doing here?” Hermione slurred. “Lurking in deserted… dark corridors. Wearing that damn dress robe. You’re up to something, aren’t you?”

Narcissa sighed. “I was using the lavatory, Ms. Granger, much like I’m assuming is your reason for stepping away from your paramour.”

“Right. That’s the best defense you can come up with?”

“I didn’t know I needed a defense.”

Hermione scoffed. “Of course you didn’t. Used to things going your way and getting away with everything. Maybe even murder?”

“I’ve never taken a life!”

“Just watched your sister torture me, then.”

Narcissa flinched and stepped back. “I’ll leave you to it.” She made to depart, head held high, when Hermione’s hand grabbed her arm and squeezed.

“I hate you,” she mouthed, her eyelids falling shut.

“Tell me something I don’t know, Ms. Granger.”

Hermione’s eyes snapped open. “I’m _so_ angry all the time.”

Narcissa held her gaze. “I wish I could tell you it’ll get better, but that would be a lie. Though I suppose given your support system, you’ll work it out somehow.”

Hermione shook her head. “I doubt it. There’s too much…” Seemingly coming to her senses, Hermione dropped Narcissa’s arm and rushed away, not fully registering the exasperated, “good night to you, too,” that fell from the blonde witch’s lips.

***

“No!” Hermione woke with a shout, panting, her hands clutched the sweat-soaked bedspread. She sat up and swung her legs to the side, letting them dangle over the floor. It had been a while since the dreamless sleep potion had forsaken her. Hermione rubbed her face, then glanced at the clock on her nightstand. 3:10 am. She might as well get up.

Maybe the wine didn’t play well with the potion? She’d drink less next time. How she wished to tell Kingsley to shove it. Why did she always do what everyone asked of her? She hated conflict, sure, but this seemed too far, didn’t it? She’d done all they’d ever asked for, played by their rules, no matter how stupid or ill-advised they were.

She brewed coffee and sat at the kitchen table, warming her hands on the steaming cup. Maybe Ginny was right, and she should talk to a healer. Though they all knew her. She could already read it in the Prophet, ‘Golden Girl Addled in the Head.’ Hermione supposed she could see a Muggle psychologist, but before that she’d need to come up with a Muggle-appropriate story of what had happened to her.

A scratch on the window startled her, resulting in coffee splashing over her fingers. “Shoot,” Hermione mumbled, shaking her hands. She ambled to the window. An owl? Who’d sent her a letter at this time?

The tawny bird flapped its wings and fluttered inside, hooting and bumping into Hermione as soon as she’d let it in.

“You’re an eager fellow,” Hermione said, untying the parchment from its leg. “I don’t have any treats for you.”

The owl seemed to narrow its eyes before head-butting Hermione’s shoulder and flying back out of the window.

“Wow. What an attitude,” Hermione said with a low chuckle. She lifted the letter to inspect the handwriting, and while it had her name on the front, she wasn’t familiar with the ornate script. None of her friends had written that for sure.

She opened the envelope. Inside was a piece of parchment with the words:

Food for thought:

“Anger as soon as fed is dead-

'Tis starving makes it fat.”

N.B.

Hermione, standing barefooted on the cold kitchen tiles, read the missive several times, and still could not believe what she held in her hands. The bottom of the letter bore the unmistakable crest of the House of Black. She’d recognize it anywhere, with its three ravens, the wand and the skull. She’d seen it often enough at Grimmauld’s Place. Why would Narcissa Black sent her a letter? Why would she... Those lines... They sounded familiar.

With a flurry of movement that had her almost step on a snoozing Crookshank’s tail, Hermione rushed to her bookshelf and kneeled down. Her poetry... where... Oh, there it was. She pulled out a book with a light blue cover and opened it, skimming through well-read pages until... Yes. There it was. Emily Dickinson’s poem. Why would Narcissa Black sent her a line from a poem by a Muggle author? So many questions rushed to her lips, but no one was there to answer.

***

Hermione had been looking forward to the ball tonight; a novel experience. Though, to be honest, she was also dreading it. She’d never replied to Narcissa’s poem. What could she have said? She didn’t think bombarding the woman with the million questions that swirled in her brain was appropriate, given their lack of... anything and everything. On the other side, she worried that not replying was seen as rude, but then again, she hadn’t minded being rude to her before. Maybe she should have sent a poem back. She’d even selected three contenders, but then lost her nerve.

Tonight’s affair was supposed to be a costume ball. Because people with hoods and disguises didn’t unleash any memories. Hermione had to hold back rolling her eyes every time she thought of it. It seemed as if their ideas for this program became worse with each new event, though that also had the potential of people losing interest and the entire thing being canceled, freeing her. But then she’d also not see Narcissa again. Hermione wondered what she’d be wearing to tonight’s ball. She groaned. Since when did she care about Narcissa Black?

Harry had dressed as Mark Anthony while Ron went as a famous Chudley Cannon player. Hermione had already forgotten his name. Ginny, inspired by Harry’s choice, dressed up as Cleopatra. None of them said a word when they’d met up with Hermione to apparate to the ball. They’d just stared at her, at a loss for words. Hermione was pleased. She’d hoped for such a reaction, and she couldn’t wait to see how... No. She wouldn’t go there. She’d stop those thoughts. Somehow.

They mingled with their usual acquaintances at the ball for the first half hour, and even though Hermione would deny being on the lookout for them, so far, she’d spotted neither Draco nor Narcissa.

“Yo, ‘Mione, who’s ferret supposed to be, you reckon?” Ron asked, bumping into her arm.

Hermione followed his gaze and tilted her head when she recognized Draco. “A spy, maybe? He reminds me a bit of James Bond in that get-up.”

“Who’s that?”

“Never mind,” Hermione replied. “Oh, wow,” she breathed before she could censor herself.

“What?” Ron said and followed Hermione’s gaze. “Who’s _she_ supposed to be?”

“Aphrodite,” Hermione mouthed, unable to take her eyes off Narcissa. The blonde witch was dressed in a long-flowing white dress with golden accents that showed a mesmerizing amount of leg with each step she took. Her blonde hair was braided, looking like a crown on top of her head. A golden glow emanated from around her, casting her in a halo of light.

“That’s a bit much, if you ask me,” Ron said. “But leave it to a Malfoy to go over the top.”

“Black,” Hermione said, still unable to look away.

“What?”

“Is that all you can say, Ronald? Her name is Black. She divorced Lucius.”

“Who cares,” Ron said, returning his attention to Harry and Ginny. 

Hermione steadfastly avoided running into Narcissa all evening, unsure of what to say and how to act. It seemed much easier to interact with the blonde witch when she had been drunk, though, to be fair, she was seething at the time. Now, her emotions were much more... conflicted.

However, while chatting with Luna, Narcissa joined them and first exchanged pleasantries with her before turning to Hermione.

“An interesting costume choice, Ms. Granger.”

“Yes, well, an overly excited owl made a nightly delivery not too long ago. Its content inspired this.”

Narcissa’s facial expression remained unreadable. “That must have been some message.”

“It was. The author in question, of the quote, not the missive, wrote a lovely poem about death that has always stuck with me.”

“Oh, I first thought you were a dementor, but they don’t carry a scythe,” Luna said.

Narcissa laughed, and with it, the hair on Hermione’s arms rose. Hermione couldn’t decide if she wanted to kiss or throttle the woman. Then she blanched at the thought. Merlin, help her!

Narcissa sobered up, her gaze seeking Hermione, who fidgeted with the rod of the scythe. “I hope you two have a pleasant evening,” she said in a low voice, offered a small smile and left.

Hermione sighed.

“You should go after her,” Luna said.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Your conversation didn’t seem to be over and her aura is very... attached to yours.”

Sputtering, Hermione almost dropped her prop. “What? You... you’re seeing things.”

“Of course I’m seeing things. Oh, look, there’s Neville. I’ll tell him you said hi. Go. Now.”

Hermione shook her head but heeded Luna’s command, albeit slowly. She still wasn’t sure of the reception she’d receive and which one she’d prefer. She passed a flying tray full of cheese sticks and grabbed one, absently nibbling on a cube, Hermione contemplated the best way to approach the blonde witch. Before she could come up with a solution, she’d bumped into Narcissa. How did she always seem to appear out of nowhere?

“Thank you for the letter,” Hermione said. “I’m surprised you know Dickinson, or Aphrodite.”

“You’re welcome,” Narcissa said. “My reading tastes are... eclectic, and I love poetry. Dickinson’s sadness is... relatable.”

“I love her poems, too.”

“As for Greek goddesses, you must have noticed my family’s tendency to name their offspring based on Greek mythology.”

“Right. There’s that,” Hermione said.

“How are the anger issues?”

“Less intense but still present,” Hermione said. “I’ve been... distracted recently.”

“Oh?”

Hermione fought off a blush. “Too many questions and all that.”

“Finding answers might help with such trouble,” Narcissa said, and mirth danced in her eyes.

“That assumes answers are something that can be found. Research can be helpful in finding answers, obviously, but some questions... you can’t find the answers. They need to be given.”

“Have you considered asking?”

“That assumes daring, and a willingness to share... potentially private information.”

“But you are a Gryffindor. Aren’t you a daring and brave bunch?”

“Hmm, yes. I suppose.”

“You never know unless you ask, Ms. Granger,” Narcissa said, and once more excused herself with a smile.

That woman was going to be the death of her. Hermione watched her leave, once more distracted by the way her dress clung to her body. This should be illegal. Why were Narcissa’s shoulders shaking? Was she laughing?

***

Hermione couldn’t believe it. She had to wait three weeks before the next ministry shindig, when for once in her life she wanted to go. She supposed she could send one of the poems out after all. Was it on her to say something? But she said thank you during the ball? Besides, why was she even thinking about this? She hated Narcissa for everything she’d done and allowed to happen. Or didn’t she?

She had made an appointment with a psychologist after deciding to frame her experience as having escaped a cult. Her first appointment was the day after tomorrow, and she had contemplated canceling a million times. She didn’t tell her friends about it, though it might ease some of their annoying worried expressions and glances. She was doing better already. Sure, she was still taking dreamless sleep most nights, and she remembered reading something about its potential for dependency, but Hermione didn’t feel addicted. She could very well sleep without it. She just preferred not to. She sighed.

Hermione was about to head to bed when a knock on her window saw her rushing over and yanking it open to allow the same exited owl to fly inside. She hurried to the kitchen and returned with a handful of owl treats she’d purchased. “Here you go,” she muttered, handing them out to the bird who greedily wolfed them down.

Hermione released the letter, and the owl flew away. Should she sleep on this? What if this message confused her even more, and then she could forget to find any rest tonight? Who was she kidding? She wouldn’t sleep a wink without reading what Narcissa had written.

She unfolded the parchment, and this time, there was no text aside from another poem and Narcissa’s initials:

“I measure every Grief I meet

With narrow, probing eyes –

I wonder if It weighs like Mine –

Or has an Easier size.”

N.B.

Sure that this was another poem by Dickinson, Hermione picked up her book from the coffee table and leafed through it until she found the correct poem. She couldn’t remember this one, though it struck a chord with her now. She supposed they both were close to grief, if in different ways. Did that make anything easier? Did this subdue the rage that still simmered within Hermione?

Well, she definitely had to reply. She pulled out her sheet of options and read through them before zeroing in on the perfect choice.

***

The next ministry dinner finally arrived, and Narcissa and Hermione had exchanged a few more letters in between, gradually branching out to writing more than just poetry. Hermione had even mentioned her appointments with the psychologist, and Narcissa’s reply had been surprisingly encouraging.

Hermione hadn’t told her friends about her correspondence with Narcissa either. She wanted to keep that to herself, in part because she was still ambivalent about the blonde witch, but also because she wanted something that just belonged to her and which no one else was privy to. There seemed to be so little in her life that she fully controlled, and that was actually something she’d picked up when talking to her psychologist.

Narcissa didn’t seek her out all evening. After several long hours of nervous energy and expectations crashing within her, and mingling with a rising general annoyance about these events, and especially a short, terse talk with Kingsley, Hermione plucked up the courage, intermixed with rage as it was, to find the blonde witch.

“We need to stop meeting in dark corridors, Ms. Granger,” Narcissa’s voice rung out the moment she stepped out of the shadows and stood in front of Hermione.

“Why? Are you afraid for your reputation?”

Narcissa raised one eyebrow. “I’m more concerned with yours. ‘Resident Golden Girl sulking in dark corridors with the ex-wife of a convicted Death Eater,’ isn’t a headline you should want to read about yourself.”

“It’s a bit odd that this is suddenly one of your concerns. You’re the one who started our contact, mind you, after I stated that I hate you,” Hermione replied, folding her arms in front of her chest.

Narcissa tilted her head. “I believe we shall be interrupted in a minute. How about we relocate this conversation?” She motioned for Hermione to follow her and together, they entered a small supply closet.

“You were saying?”

“I said nothing to your accusation,” Narcissa said.

“It wasn’t an accusation as much as it was a statement of fact.”

A small smile spread over Narcissa’s face. “Are you in the habit of corresponding with people you hate?”

“No.”

“Do you still hate me, Ms. Granger?”

“I should hate you.”

“Perhaps you should follow Dickinson’s advice on that as well,” Narcissa said.

“I’m not sure I recall her stance on hate.”

“She said she has no time to hate since life is too short ever to do hate justice.”

Hermione laughed. “How do you do hate justice?”

“She meant she couldn’t finish it because life would end before then.”

“Ah, so hating takes time.”

“And energy.”

“What did she choose to do instead?”

“Love, though she declared to have no time for that either, but it’s the better option of the two.”

“Is it?”

“I am the wrong person to ask.”

“You love Draco, enough to lie to Voldemort to save him.”

“The love we have for our children is... irrational and all-encompassing. You cannot compare it with anything else. We also have no choice but to love our children.”

“Would you choose differently?”

“I didn’t say that, and no, I wouldn’t. There are parents who do not love their children or who mistake pride and possessiveness for love, but I wasn’t referring to such aberrations. Most parents love their children beyond...” She shook her head. “Anything and everything.”

“So you do know about love,” Hermione said.

“As do you, since I’m assuming you love your parents.”

“But that’s different!”

Narcissa raised her eyebrows but remained silent.

“Yes, yes,” Hermione huffed.

“Tell me something else I don’t know,” Narcissa said after a moment of stillness had passed.

Hermione raised her head and stared at the blonde witch. She didn’t wear those infernal emerald robes tonight, but the black and silver outfit that hugged every curve wasn’t much of an improvement. She sighed. If only she felt as free as she did in her thoughts.

“Why don’t you?” Narcissa whispered.

Hermione held her gaze. _I really want to know what you taste like_. No. She’d never dare ask that.

Narcissa’s eyes widened and her lips parted. A gush of air fled, and with it, a noise akin to a soft whimper reached Hermione’s ears.

“You heard that,” she muttered, her mouth opening and closing before she stepped back. “Are you in my head? Are you reading my mind?”

“Shh, don’t shout!” Narcissa rushed out. “I’m not intentionally reading your mind. Your thoughts are just... really loud.”

Hermione covered her face with her hands. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” Was it possible to die of embarrassment? Did she hear everything, all the…

Narcissa pinched the bridge of her nose. “You are shouting again, dear.”

“Well, I don’t know how to think quieter! How about you do something?”

“I can’t! It doesn’t work. I was born with this skill, and while I’m usually able to shield my mind enough so I won’t accidentally overhear people’s thoughts, yours..., they reach me even across the distance. It’s like you’re standing next to me, whispering in my ears.”

Memories flooded Hermione’s mind, all the times Narcissa appeared to react in sync with her thoughts; the laughter, the startled, almost pained expression, the widened look of surprise... She reacted to Hermione’s thoughts, then. “You... you heard it all. You were making fun of me. Did you laugh about me with all your pureblood friends?”

“What? No! Of course not! I wasn’t... It was intriguing, and fun, at first. Your mind is so... open but so fast, and funny. I was... fascinated.”

“By me wanting to fuck you?”

Narcissa cringed. “Your thoughts were... flattering. I’ve been raised with the notion that my worth, my _only_ worth, lies with my looks. I am aware that I have what some may call a natural beauty, but I’ve always loathed it. People’s reactions have usually been crass and... most unwelcome.”

“Like what I just said? I’m sorry, I’m just so...”

“Angry all the time. I understand, and this... revelation was a shock to you, especially when you assumed I’d done this at your expense, which I promise, I did not.”

“I believe you,” Hermione said with a small sigh.

“Thank you.”

“I just don’t understand why you’d entertain this...” She waved between them.

“You are a smart and interesting witch, and the company I usually kept,” Narcissa said with a shudder. “Let’s say your mind is a pleasant vacation in comparison, a spot of calm and peace.”

“My head feels neither peaceful nor calm,” Hermione said.

“No. I’m sure it doesn’t, but it is to me.”

“Where does that leave us? I’m not sure I even like you, though I’m obviously attracted to you,” Hermione said and scrunched up her eyebrows.

“Do you need me to hate you?”

Hermione held her gaze, noting the seriousness in Narcissa’s eyes while at the same time being distracted by their beautiful shade of blue, mixed with sparkles of silver.

“Oh dear,” Narcissa said with a sigh. “Poetry isn’t your forte.”

Hermione chuckled. “That’s what you get for listening to my thoughts.”

“Again, your thoughts are really loud.”

“So you say,” Hermione said.

“Why did you never learn how to occlude your mind? Given all the adventures you three were up to, it boggles my mind no one ever thought to teach you.”

“Well, Snape tried to teach Harry, and the way he talked about it,” Hermione said with a mask of disgust. “I wasn’t keen on learning that.”

“Severus was a terrible teacher.”

“True, there’s that,” Hermione said.

“So do you need me to hate you?”

“Huh? Oh. I should.”

“And you always do what you should, don’t you?”

Hermione clenched her jaw before muttering, “no,” and surging forward, she claimed Narcissa’s lips in a bruising kiss.

Narcissa startled and fell back for a second before her hands reached out, and she pulled Hermione closer, opening her mouth to deepen the kiss.

Hermione groaned, licking into the heat of Narcissa’s mouth made her head swim. She knew she’d taste delicious.

With a soft chuckle, Narcissa broke their kiss and pressed her forehead against Hermione’s. “We need to teach you how to occlude. Your thoughts are way too distracting, although I’ll admit, you surprised me with that kiss.”

“We’ll see. Some distractions can be... entertaining,” Hermione replied before reconnecting their lips for another kiss.

***

Narcissa sat curled up on her plush couch at Black manor, trying to read a book, yet her mind insisted on drifting off to Hermione Granger. Narcissa closed her eyes. What had started as a way to entertain herself during boring ministry dinners and balls, time she’d rather spend alone at home with her books or potions, morphed into something much more complicated. Something she refused to name because down that road lay nothing but disaster.

It probably didn’t help that she used the first letter Hermione ever sent her as a book mark. She hadn’t expected Hermione to recognize the first poem she’d sent, and she’d been delighted when she not only knew of Dickinson’s work, but shared her affinity for the poet.

She pulled out the parchment and unfolded it. Hermione’s neat, efficient script spelled out:

“And so of larger — Darknesses —  
Those Evenings of the Brain —  
When not a Moon disclose a sign —  
Or Star — come out — within —"

HJG

A middle stanza of one of her favorite poems. She sighed again. Nothing but trouble lay ahead, and Hermione’s infatuation with her would fade quicker than Narcissa’s looks, and they were already well on their way. While she knew she had more to offer than her appearance, it seemed that no one had ever held an interest beyond that, aside from Draco, but one’s children never count in these circumstances.

When she noticed Hermione’s attraction, it flattered her that she’d caught the eyes of someone who could have anyone she wanted, and she’d lie if she said that the age difference wasn’t a factor. However, that particular truth cut both ways. She was vain enough to take pride in attracting someone so young, but she also realized that this likely doomed whatever could be between them.

Narcissa released a dark chuckle. As if that was the only obstacle between them. In fact, it might be the easiest to overcome, and since she considered the age difference already a huge issue, that was saying something about the significance of the rest that stood between them.

One of the most beguiling things about Hermione though wasn’t the fact that she was attracted to Narcissa physically. Her attraction felt clean, which sounded odd even in her own head, but Narcissa didn’t know how else to contrast it with the lurid thoughts and ideas that usually floated her way from people who found her appealing.

Yet even that was relegated to the shadows compared with Hermione’s mind. Narcissa had been truthful, she was born with the gift, or curse, of legilimency, and occluding did keep out the thoughts of others, everyone except Hermione Granger. It wasn’t just that her thoughts reached Narcissa with her shield up in full force, for she’d never enter a public gathering unguarded, but her mind presented an oasis that made Narcissa realize she’d spent all her life in the desert without knowing it.

She sometimes wondered why she didn’t hear her thoughts back then, at Malfoy manor. Perhaps she had. It would explain how excruciating it was to watch Bellatrix torture Hermione, and how she’d still wake up in a cold sweat from nightmares that replayed that scene in her mind on infinite repeat.

They’d sent more letters, and more poetry, and Narcissa desperately wanted to ask to meet but was afraid of rejection. It was one thing to share a heated kiss in a closet and exchange letters, and quite another to intentionally spend a prolonged amount of time with each other.

Merlin, Narcissa knew she shouldn’t want Hermione, but she was terrible at resisting what she desired, and no one had ever impacted her like the dark-haired witch. The images in her mind alone... Narcissa shifted in her seat. She closed the book and placed it on the coffee table. She might as well write another letter.

***

“You’ve never been this cheerful about going to one of these events,” Ron said with a frown. “You’re downright... giddy. It’s gross.”

“I’m not giddy, and well, if you can’t avoid something, you might as well enjoy it.”

“Like Potions with Snape?”

Hermione huffed. “Are you guys ready to go?”

“Yes, one second,” Ginny called from the bedroom the moment Harry joined them.

“Did you hear the ministry decided to only host one event every three months starting with the next one? You should be delighted, Hermione,” Harry said, shrugging on his robe.

“What? Why?”

Harry tilted his head. “You sound upset. Why are you upset? I thought you’d love to hear this?”

“No. Yes, well, it’s complicated,” Hermione said, her hands fidgeting.

“I’ll say,” Ron mumbled.

“I don’t understand,” Harry said.

“You don’t understand what?” Ginny asked, joining them.

“Hermione’s newfound desire to attend these ministry events,” Harry said.

“Oh, did someone catch your eye?”

“What?” Ron and Harry said at the same time.

“What else would cause such a change?” Ginny asked.

“No, no. It’s not that. Can we just go?” Hermione asked, giving Ginny a significant look.

“Yes. We’re running late. Let’s go.”

“Yeah, Ginny, as if Hermione would meet a decent bloke at these horrid events,” Ron said, and they all apparated to the festive hall.

Once there, they settled at their usual table, and once Neville and Luna joined them, Ginny motioned for Hermione to follow her to get some drinks. Groaning internally, Hermione rose and trod after her friend.

“Spill it, Granger. Who is it?” Ginny said the moment they were out of earshot of their table.

“No one,” Hermione said, stuffing her hands in her pockets.

“You’re lying. Why else in Merlin’s name would you suddenly want to be here? You’ve been complaining about these dinners and balls for months.”

Hermione glanced around before dragging Ginny into a corner. “You can’t tell anyone, not even Harry. If you breathe _one_ word, I will end you, Ginevra Molly Weasley!”

Ginny paled. “Who is it?”

Hermione raised her head and stared at the ceiling before facing Ginny once more. “Nothing much happened, and I don’t know if she... if something will come out of this.”

“But you want it to?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said and worried her lower lip. “I don’t really know her that well.”

“Do you want to get to know her or is it just physical? There’s nothing wrong with one-night-stands if both parties agree.”

“Ugh, I know that. And no, it’s not just physical. I’d love to get to know her more, but it’s complicated.”

“Because of who she is?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t feel comfortable telling me?” Ginny said with wide eyes. “I won’t judge you or anything.”

Hermione closed her eyes. “Not one soul, Ginny.”

“I promise.”

“Narcissa,” Hermione mouthed.

Ginny opened her mouth but then closed it again. She shifted her gaze from Hermione’s intense stare to glance over her shoulder, and a small smile spread over her face. “That would explain why Draco’s mum is throwing daggers at me for being huddled in a corner with you.”

“What?” Hermione spun around, but the moment she saw Narcissa, the blonde witch turned away and seemed to be deep in conversation with the wizard sitting next to her.

Ginny laughed. “I can’t believe you’re hot for Draco’s mum.”

Hermione dropped her head. “So much for no judgment.”

“I’m not judging you. I’m impressed. I didn’t think you had it in you. And let’s be honest, Narcissa is beautiful, even if it’s an icy beauty, but thawing that might be fun.”

Hermione groaned. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

Ginny placed her hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “No, Hermione. I’m glad you did. I’m here for you, and I’m happy you found someone who gets you into such a stitch.”

Hermione laughed and turned around, facing her friend. “Thank you. We shall see what happens. I just... there’s a lot in our way.”

“I’d say, but you’re stubborn enough to overcome it if you truly want to be with her.”

“I hope so,” Hermione said and stepped forward to hug Ginny.

“I think you’re in for some trouble, ‘Mione,” Ginny muttered and squeezed Hermione.

They went back to their friends after getting drinks and ate dinner. Hermione tried to leave the table and search for Narcissa, but someone always seemed to draw her into another conversation.

***

Narcissa tried, she valiantly tried to concentrate on what Hubert something, something was saying to her. Not only did his monotone voice make this attempt a challenge, but it acted as the perfect white noise background that allowed her mind to focus on something she shouldn’t be, Hermione Granger, or, to be more precise, the daydreams forming in that gorgeous mind of the dark-haired witch.

The rambling quality of some of Hermione’s thoughts had often amused Narcissa. Her mind was sharp and often jumped from place to place, but at times, like in this unfortunate moment, the dark-haired witch’s thoughts were anything but rambling, and their entire focus seemed to be directed at one subject, Narcissa herself.

It started harmless, Hermione wondering about her favorite novel, her favorite food, and whether she liked chocolate. Then she drifted to contemplating the exact shade of her eye color and the texture of her hair, or she mused that she quite liked Narcissa’s scent, though she failed to place it. Naturally, such thoughts led to more… tactile ones where Hermione wondered what sounds Narcissa would make if they were to make love, and that then only went downhill for Narcissa’s concentration.

She dropped her fork when Hermione imagined nuzzling and kissing the pulse point on her neck, and she thanked her thick robes that covered the state of her nipples reacting to Hermione vivid mental image of sucking them into her mouth.

Narcissa crossed her legs. There were times she wished her shield would work against Hermione, or that someone distracted the dark-haired witch from her single-minded focus. She bit back a groan when Hermione longed to taste her skin. This wouldn’t do at all.

***

After a couple of hours that saw Hermione zoned out in daydreams, she had enough and excused herself for the restrooms.

She’d scanned the room for the blonde witch, and when she couldn’t see her anywhere, she left the main hall and hurried toward the corridor to the restrooms, but before she could reach them, a hand snatched her and dragged her in the same supply closet she’d hidden in with Narcissa the last time.

“Hey!” Hermione called but smiled when she recognized the blonde witch in front of her.

“Good evening, Ms. Granger. You’ve surely been a popular woman tonight.”

Hermione held back a grin. “Given that you’ve had your tongue in my mouth, you should call me Hermione.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, Narcissa,” Hermione said and stepped closer.

“You seemed awfully cozy with Ms. Weasley earlier.”

“You seem awfully insecure for someone who reads my mind.”

“I do not read your mind, Hermione. Your thoughts are—”

“Really loud, yes, you’ve mentioned that a few times.”

“Mmhmm,” Narcissa said and narrowed her eyes.

“Did you hear any of my thoughts during the evening?”

Heat rose high in Narcissa’s cheeks. “You... you seemed quite distracted.”

“There’s only so often you can listen to Luna’s stories of her encounters with Umgubular Slashkilters before you zone out.”

“I see,” Narcissa said.

“I’ll admit, I was also hoping you’d hear me. Did you?”

“Yes,” Narcissa breathed.

“Good,” Hermione said, smiling and inching closer still.

“You need to stop that,” Narcissa pressed out after a beat.

“Stop what?”

“You need to stop imagining what you want to do to me.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, heat flooding her cheeks, and she was about to stutter an apology when she registered Narcissa’s blown pupils and rapid breathing. “You… you like it.”

Narcissa released a harsh breath. “You paint a vivid picture.”

Hermione bit her lower lip. “Do you think, if I did _this_ ,” she said, picturing unbuttoning Narcissa’s robes, trailing her fingers down her chest and disappearing beneath her dress. She imagined her fingers encountering the warm flesh of Narcissa’s inner thigh, drifting higher toward the heat of...

“Merlin, Hermione, stop,” Narcissa croaked, her eyes shut while a tremble ran through her frame.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

A throaty chuckle interrupted Hermione’s rambling. “No, dear, you didn’t take advantage of me, nor did you cross any boundaries. This just isn’t the time, and more importantly, the place for such an exploration,” Narcissa said, her head pointing at the door to the closet they’d disappeared in.

“Oh, right. Of course. But… you’re not averse to… you know?”

“Hermione, you just pictured your fingers pushing inside me, but you cannot say the word sex?”

Hermione cleared her throat. “Well, if you put it that way. It’s just… my thoughts are freer than my words.”

“Lucky for me then that I can hear your thoughts.”

Hermione covered her eyes. “You’re going to kill me.”

Narcissa laughed. “But what a way to go.”

“So, would you... do you want to get out of here?”

“The closet?”

“Stop messing with me. Do you want to leave this dinner and join me? At my apartment?”

“Yes, Hermione. I’d love that.”

“Good. Let’s say our goodbyes and meet outside? I’ll apparate us there.”

“All right.”

***

They apparated inside Hermione’s living room. Before she could lose her nerves, Hermione pressed forward and kissed Narcissa who eagerly pulled her close, tearing at her clothes, and together, they stumbled toward Hermione’s bedroom. 

Panting, Hermione shrugged off her robes followed by her shirt and pants before she reached out and with shaking hands, pulled off Narcissa’s robes. 

“You’ve been doing that intentionally,” Hermione whispered, motioning for Narcissa to turn around to allow her to unfasten her dress. 

“Be more specific, dear.”

“Your dresses. And robes. You’ve taken notes of my reactions and then dressed accordingly.”

“Naturally,” Narcissa said with a small laugh and turned around, the dress pooling at her feet. 

“This is truly unfair,” Hermione pouted. 

“Unfair is getting a front-row seat to your idle daydreams about us while having dinner with people I can barely stand. Not to mention, with my son sitting next to me.”

“They weren’t idle. Those were targeted fantasies I wanted you to see.”

Narcissa opened her mouth, but no words left her lips. 

“I can show you now, too, if you want?”

Narcissa’s breathing hitched, and she wordlessly nodded, allowing Hermione to push her onto the bed. 

“I’d prefer for us to be naked, if you don’t mind.”

Still without a voice, Narcissa nodded again and helped Hermione with removing their remaining garments. 

Hermione slid next to a stretched out Narcissa, shuffling close and pressing their bodies together. They both shuddered at the contact. She kissed Narcissa, pulling her lower lip into her mouth and giving it a soft bite. 

Narcissa groaned and reached out to draw Hermione closer, but she resisted. 

“Let me show you first,” Hermione said and pictured peppering Narcissa’s chest with kisses and licks before imagining sucking her nipples into her mouth. 

Narcissa’s eyes fell shut, and she moaned. 

Encouraged by the reaction, Hermione continued with her fantasy. She’d imagined this often over the last several weeks, even before their first kiss. She made sure Narcissa knew that as well. 

Hermione’s gaze trailed down Narcissa’s nude form and she sent images of her kissing along Narcissa’s belly and noted it twitching in front of her. 

Narcissa’s hands fell to the side and curled into the sheets. 

“Spread your legs, please,” Hermione muttered, her breath caught at the low tug of arousal low in her stomach when Narcissa followed suit. She gritted her teeth. This was harder than she imagined. Hermione wanted to turn her fantasy into reality, but she was too stubborn to give in just yet. 

Narcissa groaned, apparently having hoped for a different outcome to Hermione’s internal debate. 

“Patience,” Hermione whispered and pictured instead dropping down and laying between Narcissa’s legs. She’d idly trail down her nails on the inside of warm thighs that trembled, much like the shiver that she now saw spreading through Narcissa. 

“Hermione,” Narcissa breathed, her eyes still shut and her head pressed into the mattress, tension coiling in her neck. 

“Shh,” Hermione replied, and instead imagined spreading Narcissa’s folds and licking up her heat. 

A drawn-out moan spilled from the blonde witch’s lips while Hermione, transfixed, stared at Narcissa’s glistening sex. 

Hermione swallowed hard and surged forward, the fantasy no longer enough, not when she needed to taste her lover. She drew her tongue up Narcissa’s length before sucking her swollen bundle of nerves into her mouth, pressing and painting rapid circles. 

A loud sob spilled from Narcissa that left Hermione breathless and more aroused than she ever remembered being. 

***

Narcissa had always been a visual person, so it wasn’t a complete surprise that Hermione’s thoughts would affect her, but she’d never expected to be so helpless to the onslaught of Hermione’s visions. Her mind and body struggled to recognize what was real and what was the fantasy web that Hermione spun, turning her into a boneless mass of liquid arousal. 

The image of Hermione’s lips between her legs would have made her come alone, but once Hermione followed up that vision with action, Narcissa almost passed out. 

She wasn’t loud in bed, and she didn’t beg, sob, or shout, but here, with Hermione’s tongue dancing in her heat, she was helpless to do anything but. 

Her hands shot to Hermione’s head and her trembling fingers tangled in dark curls. Her body shook and tension spread, giving way to tremors and heat suffusing her body. 

Tears streamed down her face and her hips rocked into Hermione, urging her to pick up speed, and thankfully, Hermione caught on and her tongue ran faster circles while her mouth sucked harder until Narcissa’s body locked, and with it, a hoarse scream tore from her throat when wave after wave of pure pleasure ransacked her frame. 

“Hey,” Hermione said, having suddenly appeared right next to her. She gently pushed a few strands of hair out of Narcissa’s face. “Are you all right?”

Narcissa blinked rapidly and cleared her throat. “Yes. Did I... did I pass out?”

“Only for a moment,” Hermione said and bent down to kiss her lips.

“That was quite the performance, Ms. Granger,” she drawled, pulling Hermione closer and deepening the kiss.

After a moment, Hermione ended the kiss, but pressed her forehead against Narcissa’s. “What can I say? I felt inspired.”

Narcissa chuckled.

“May I show you something else?”

Narcissa was surprised by the visceral reaction of her body at those words. Arousal once more coiled in her stomach. “I’m not sure I’ll survive your ‘something else,’” she said.

“May I quote you from earlier tonight? What a way to go?”

“Cheeky brat,” Narcissa hummed and pressed up for another quick kiss before muttering, “show me.”

The moment Hermione’s thoughts entered her mind, Narcissa realized she made a mistake. 

If the visions and fantasies Hermione had shared before were intoxicating, these would kill her. 

Narcissa groaned, unable to look away from images of Hermione pleasuring herself while picturing what she wanted from Narcissa. 

White, hot arousal crashed through her and with quivering hands, she pulled Hermione closer. 

“Dear, I definitely want you to share these images with me again, but if you expect me to fulfill your fantasies, you need to stop now. This is killing me,” she whimpered the last part. 

“We don’t want that,” Hermione said and climbed on top of Narcissa. 

The blonde witch didn’t reply and instead pulled Hermione close and kissed her. Hard. She sucked her tongue into her mouth and nibbled on it. 

Her hands gripped Hermione’s back, and she scratched her fingers down while lifting her hips, rocking into Hermione. 

“This will not take long,” Hermione muttered after ending their frantic kiss. She buried her head in Narcissa’s neck, panting and groaning. 

A sheen of sweat covered them and their breathing rang ragged through the room. 

Narcissa slipped her hand between Hermione’s legs and moaned at the heat and wetness the encountered. “I believe you,” she gasped, dragging her fingers through Hermione’s folds before pushing two fingers inside. 

Hermione groaned and trembled on top of her. Her hips followed Narcissa’s lead when the blonde witch picked up the pace of her pumps before pulling back out and focusing on Hermione’s swollen clit. 

Narcissa’s arm burned and the sounds spilling from Hermione at her ministrations made her dizzy with want. She sped up her movements and Hermione rocked against her until she arrested, biting the cord of muscles of Narcissa’s neck before quivering and shaking in her release. 

“Told you,” Hermione mouthed with a small chuckle.

Narcissa shook her head and pulled her close. “You’re something else.”

***

Narcissa knew what she was doing was wrong, and strangely enough, it was also contrary to everything she wanted. But fear drove her out of Hermione’s bed when it was still dark outside. She’d pressed a lingering kiss on the dark-haired witch’s head, dressed and apparated back home. Should she have left a note? And said what? She never should have given in, but how could she have resisted when Hermione had been so incredibly enchanting?

At home, she paced her study, glaring at the parchment she’d normally use to send Hermione another letter. She’d messed things up, and while she knew that sending a letter to Hermione now, explaining what she felt or why she left, it would help, at least for a while before it all would come crashing down.

Narcissa stopped in front of a full-length mirror and stared at herself. Her reflection looked wild. Her eyes blood-shot, and her face paler than usual, though there was some color high in her cheeks. She wanted Hermione, and that’s exactly what had gotten her into this mess. She’d followed along this path, charmed and infatuated, and even when she realized things were spinning out of control, she forged ahead because her desire to be with Hermione won out.

Yet, when she woke up this morning and gazed at Hermione in her sleep, looking even younger than her years, Narcissa realized she was doomed, that there would be no happy ending, and so she fled. Wasn’t it better to end things before they started?

“You’re deluding yourself, dear. But go ahead. I’ve never been able to talk sense into you,” her reflection said and folded her arms across her chest.

“Oh, shut up,” Narcissa said and stalked off. 

***

“We need to talk,” Hermione said as soon as Ginny opened the door.

“Hello to you, too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hermione said and stormed inside.

“What’s gotten into you? Or shall I say who? You disappeared quickly the other night, and I didn’t see Narcissa for the rest of the evening either.”

Hermione turned around, opening her mouth and pulling at her fingers.

“Oh, ‘Mione, what happened?” Ginny approached her friend and pulled her in for a hug.

Hermione held her tight for a moment and wiped her eyes after releasing Ginny. “Where’s Harry?”

“At work.”

“Right.”

“What happened?”

“We had sex.”

“OK. And that’s bad?”

“No, it was fantastic. I can’t even...”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“She left while I was sleeping. She didn’t even leave a note, Ginny! I sent her several owls, but no reply.”

“And this wasn’t a one-night-thing?”

“Not that I know of! Shouldn’t she have mentioned that, like, hey, just know I am exchanging hundreds of letter with you, waxing about poetry because I want to fuck you once and then I’ll disappear?”

“OK, yeah that doesn’t sound...”

Hermione paced. “I am so angry, and hurt, and confused, and I don’t know what to do. She received my letters since the owl didn’t return them, but she doesn’t reply. Why doesn’t she reply? What is going on?”

“I suppose you know what you want from her now?”

“What?”

“Well, when we last talked at the dinner, you seemed to be unsure about it. You even said you don’t really know her.”

Hermione waved her off. “I was stuck. I felt like I’m not supposed to like her or to admit to it, that it’s wrong because of who she is, and the past and all that. I’m still livid about what happened, but my sessions with my psychologist, Muggle mind healer, no I haven’t mentioned that before. They’ve helped.”

“Yes, those would have been my next few questions. I’m glad you’re getting help, but I’m still lost about the Narcissa parts.”

Hermione sighed. “We had gotten to know each other. All those letters...” She clenched her jaw. “I just... a part of me held on to the idea that I shouldn’t be her friend and so... I tried to justify it by acting like I’m not sure what I want and if I really like her, and know her and all that. But I was deluding myself. I know her, I like her, Merlin, I want her.”

“OK.”

“It’s not OK since she obviously doesn’t feel the same. To her this was just a fling, an adventure,” Hermione said and flopped down on the chair.

“I’d say you still need to talk to her.”

“How, if she doesn’t answer my letters?”

“Go to her house and ring the doorbell?”

“It’s that easy?”

“Why not?”

“She won’t open the door.”

“You won’t know until you try.”

Hermione grumbled.

***

Hermione had decided to give Narcissa two weeks to contact her, and after that, Hermione would get her answers. Decorum could go to hell. She deserved answers.

Those two weeks had been difficult. She’d been moody and short-tempered, and both Harry and Ron were keen on avoiding her, though at least they asked no questions. Ginny shot her commiserating looks, but also remained silent on the topic. She had said all there was to say to Hermione, and now it was up to her. She’d gone back and forth, part of her wanted to just let it go. If Narcissa could just discard her in this manner, she might as well be rid of her.

Then she’d re-read her letters and remembered their time together, and she realized she still wanted to be with the blonde witch. She wanted to spend time with her, get to know her even better. Hermione made a pro and con list about Narcissa, as well as their circumstances as a couple. She needed to be prepared for when Narcissa paraded her reasons for why they would never work. Unless, of course, this truly hadn’t been more than a fling for the other woman. That was the prospect that terrified her the most because she was powerless against that reality. She could argue against every other opposing argument, but a lack of desire...

Hermione had picked a Saturday morning to visit Narcissa, figuring it a good day to have this conversation without impeding potential obligations. Merlin, she hoped Draco wasn’t home for a visit.

She knocked on the door, but no one opened. She rang the doorbell with the same result. Hermione sighed and pulled out her wand, casting her patronus and instructing the otter to tell Narcissa to open the door.

A couple minutes later, the front door swung open and Hermione immediately lost her train of thoughts once she caught sight of the blonde witch. She was more beautiful than she recalled, but there was an air of exhaustion and misery around her that gave Hermione hope.

“Hi,” Hermione said with a little wave.

“Hello. Come on in,” Narcissa said and stepped aside to allow Hermione to enter. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

“This isn’t a social visit,” Hermione said and followed Narcissa into the living room.

“No, I suppose it’s not. I... I want to apologize for leaving the way I did.”

“And for ignoring me for the last two weeks?”

“Yes, I suppose I should apologize for that as well.”

“You suppose?”

“You gave up after the first few days.”

“Did you expect me to bombard you with letters every day? Storm your mansion?”

“No, of course not. I merely assumed you had come to your senses.”

“All right, let’s not get too far ahead here. Why did you just leave, and why didn’t you answer my letters?”

“There’s nothing much to be said. There’s no future for us, and so I determined it better for both of us to end our association before anyone got hurt.”

Hermione sprang to her feet. “You determined? I don’t get to have a say in this?”

“I feared you’d make the wrong decision, or better, that you’d let your emotions blind you and ignore what an association with me will mean. And for what, given that we won’t last.”

Hermione closed her eyes and counted to ten. No, twenty to be safe. Oh, how well she remembered the desire to throttle the blonde witch. “Do you think of me as a child?”

“What?”

“Do you consider me a child?”

Narcissa frowned, aghast. “Of course not! How can you even ask that?”

“Then why won’t you allow me to make up my own mind? It’s up to me if I want to risk being associated with you, as you’ve put it. And isn’t it too soon to write our obituary after one night?”

“Because you’re not thinking rationally. This might be fun for a few month or even a couple of years, but eventually, you’ll get bored or realize what our age difference truly means.”

“I am fully aware of what issues we face, and I’ve never been accused of not being rational. I’ve made pro and con lists for breakfast!”

“In time, you’ll realize that this… infatuation isn’t what you want for a permanent future, and then what? You’ll leave.”

“You don’t know that. You have no idea what I want because you’ve never asked me. You just left. We had this wonderful, amazing night together and then you left and ignored me for two weeks! If I didn’t show up at your doorstep, you’d never have faced me again!”

“I needed time to think, and to offer you the same.”

“You could have said that.”

A defeated expression crossed Narcissa’s face. “I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“That I wouldn’t be strong enough to leave.”

“What? You _did_ leave!”

“No. If I stayed, if I spent more time with you, this… I wouldn’t be able to leave and then you’d leave and I… You are so young, and you have your entire life ahead of you. A bright, beautiful future. One day you’ll look at me and…”

Hermione tilted her head. “You think I’m only attracted to you physically. That all I want is sex?”

Narcissa ducked her head.

“What about all this talk about how my desire for you is different and not what you’re used to, how my mind is calm and peaceful for you?”

“Exactly! I’ve never… I’ve never connected with another human being the way I do with you, and walking away at this point is already one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and you don’t even know my life and all I had to…” Narcissa jutted her jaw. “I’m selfish, Hermione. I want you more than I can put into words, but I’m also mature enough to realize that while this is now exciting and new to you, it won’t last. It cannot last. One day you’ll wake up and see this for what it is, and then you’ll leave, and I can’t deal with that.”

“So you’re ending what we could have because you’re afraid that we will fail?”

“Yes.”

“That means you do believe my feelings for you are superficial, that once you get older and lose your beauty, which you won’t, not to me, then I’ll pack up and leave, heading for the next warm body?”

Narcissa stared at her but remained silent.

“That is incredibly insulting. I need a moment.” She paced and took a deep breath, Narcissa watching her every move.

“I don’t mean to hurt you and—”

Hermione raised her hand. “No. Let me say something. I believe you don’t want to hurt me, but you still do that. I understand your fears, and I’d be lying if I said that I’m not terrified as well. There are so many reasons why we might not work, or better, there are so many reasons why we shouldn’t work, why we shouldn’t even be friends.”

“Then you agree.”

“Of course not. I said that I understand your fears, and that I’m not naïve enough to think any relationship between us will be easy, but I believe that what we could have is worth fighting for. Yes, it’s against any preconceived notion of who each of us should be, of the life we should live according to society. But here’s the thing, I’m sick of it. I’m sick and tired of doing what others want from me, of saying ‘yes and amen’ to their requests, of living the life they believe I should live. I owe them _nothing_. I’ve done more than most people will _ever_ do for this community, and I deserve to live the life I want to live.”

“I agree. You owe the wizarding world nothing.”

“And I want you. I want a chance to see, to learn and explore what we could have. What we can have. I want to spend time with you, get to know you outside of those dinners and the letters.”

“Hermione, you don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

“I could love you so easily,” Hermione breathed. “I can picture our future together, and I yearn for it.” Taking a chance, Hermione called forth her daydreams of their future, images of her hopes and desires for them. Visions of leisurely breakfasts, some of them in bed, of sitting cuddled up on the couch reading, of long walks through nature, of casting spells and brewing potions together, of sleeping in the same bed, and waking up together. When she raised her head and sought Narcissa’s gaze, her eyes widened at the sight of Narcissa’s tear-stained face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Hermione rushed to Narcissa and pulled the by now weeping woman into her arms.

***

They’d settled on the couch, and Hermione had brewed them a can of herbal tea.

“Here.” Hermione handed Narcissa a steaming cup of chamomile tea. “Your tea set insulted me for making you cry. Magic is so creepy sometimes.”

“Thank you.” Narcissa accepted the cup and smiled. “That’s very true. A lot of objects in this house are enchanted and possess quite... interesting personalities. You should try the mirror in my study.” She placed the cup back on the table.

“I will,” Hermione said, and offered Narcissa such a soft smile, the blonde witch felt her heart crack at the sight. She didn’t know if she could walk away from this.

“What happens next?”

Narcissa was about to answer when Hermione raised her hand.

“No, wait. There’s something I want to add. One of your main arguments is my youth, and you seem to equate that with innocence and lack of experience. I won’t deny that being twenty is young, and that there’s much I still have to learn and experience, but I’ve lived a life stock full of... hardship, pain, and events that no one so young should have to experience.”

Narcissa motioned for Hermione to continue.

“My best friend was chased by a madman who tried to kill him, torture him beforehand, and do the same to all his friends and their family. We were eleven when that started. I’m not sure how much Draco told you about what happened at Hogwarts each year, and how much he even knew to share, but Harry, Ron, and I... we went through hell. We lost people we loved, and we were injured, physically, and mentally. We were exposed to Voldemort’s horcruxes and vile magic. You know better than most people what any of this means.”

“I do,” Narcissa said.

“An age difference of twenty-four years is significant, especially given that one of us is just twenty, but I don’t feel twenty,” Hermione said and grasped Narcissa’s hands. “There are moments when I feel ancient, and when all I want is to hide away and sleep, but it’s more than that. I want a quiet life. My career, my books, my friends. I have no desire to venture out and explore life, to go to clubs or bars and to sleep my way through eligible witches and wizards of Britain.”

Narcissa almost snorted. “That’s good to know.”

“There are many things I want to explore, but whenever I picture them, I see you by my side. We seem quite compatible in a lot of ways. We share similar interest and affinities, and—”

“What about children?”

“What?”

“Do you want children?”

“I don’t know.”

Narcissa raised her eyebrows. “That’s one of my points.”

“I’ve never had the desire for children. I never dreamed of having a big family, which is one reason Ron and I never would have worked out. He wants what his parents have.”

“So you don’t want children?”

“I didn’t say that. I can take it or leave it.”

“Excuse me?”

“I just mean, look, if you absolutely wanted another child, not now, mind you, I’d hope you’d give us a couple of years to first establish our relationship, but if that then was something you needed in your life, I’d be OK with that.”

“You’d be OK with that?” Narcissa felt like a parrot.

“Yes.”

“And if I said I don’t want another child?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “I’d be OK with that, too.”

This peculiar, maddening woman. She’d be the end of Narcissa.

“Is there anything else?”

“What about your friends and family? Do you believe they will be accepting of us, given the age difference and who I am, our histories?”

“We will have to discuss our past, for sure. The drawing room alone...”

Narcissa shuddered, but warmth flooded her when Hermione squeezed her hands and shuffled closer.

“I believe we can overcome this, what’s between us there. I’m making great progress, according to my psychologist,” Hermione said with a grin.

“I’m glad to hear that. Perhaps I should seek one out as well.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea. We could even see one together if you want.”

“Let’s start slowly.”

“Of course.”

“What about the rest? Your friends and family?”

“They love me and want me to be happy. They’ll get over it. For the rest of the wizarding world, Merlin, I’m sorry, but I’m as interested in their thoughts on my life as I am in flubberworm poop.”

Narcissa did a double take before laughing out loud. “Oh Merlin, I remember them. Draco complained about how boring they were.”

“Well, that was all his fault given he’d provoked Buckbeak and got injured.”

Narcissa inhaled sharply. “Which brings us to my family.”

Hermione shifted in her seat.

“I do not know how my son will react to our relationship, but—”

Hermione sat up straighter. “So there will be one!”

“What?”

“You said you don’t know how Draco will react to our relationship, and that sentence implies we will have one.”

Narcissa swallowed a laugh. “You are unbelievable.”

“But in a good way.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“As long as you want to see it.”

“There are plenty of things I want to see.”

“Me, too,” Hermione said and leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Narcissa’s lips. “So we’re doing this?”

“Against my better judgment,” Narcissa said, trying but failing to keep a serious expression, and instead, she smiled and pulled Hermione closer.

“Don’t worry. Ferret-boy will get over me having my way with his mother,” Hermione said and climbed onto Narcissa’s lap.

“All right, two rules. Don’t call him that, and let’s not talk about my son when you are on top of me, about to drown me in your fantasies.”

“Agreed, though they only remain fantasies if we don’t act on them.”

Narcissa shook her head, but the warmth and happiness that spread through her being assured her that for once, she made the right decision.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I appreciate any comments or feedback.  
> You may also reach me at habren@protonmail.com


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